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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053663">Scar Tissue (that I wish you saw)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/michonnesboys/pseuds/michonnesboys'>michonnesboys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Child Abuse, Cop Rick, Death in Childbirth, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Fluff, Jealousy, Journalist Michonne, Maybe - Freeform, Miscarriage, Multi, OT3, Past Infidelity, Rixonne, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 08:48:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,575</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/michonnesboys/pseuds/michonnesboys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of his wife, Lori, Michonne and Daryl decide to reunite with Rick Grimes to comfort him in his time of need. But with the three of them together again, the old wounds of their past start to resurface as all three of them never got the closure they deserved. OR...I’m sad and I wanted to write angsty rixonne :*</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daryl Dixon &amp; Jesus, Daryl Dixon/Michonne, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes/Michonne, Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes (mentioned), Rick Grimes/Michonne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A blunt thumbnail was raised to Daryl Dixon’s lips as he rolled an off-white envelope in his free hand. was addressed from New York City and was marked with the neatest handwriting, handwriting he had grown to know. It’s stamp depicted a white lily and reflected the sunlight as he stood by his rusted, beaten mailbox, scuffing a toe against the weeds that were growing at the edge of the road.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man sighed with hunched shoulders and decided to open it, halfway anxious about what he’d find. He knew exactly who it was from and he would have been choleric if he wasn’t so caught up in how the small, delicate parcel smelled like her as he tore it right along the seam. Perfectly formal with such a disparity to how the sender would normally address him; the letter was a reminder that things definitely had changed.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He slipped the tri-folded piece of paper from the sleeve, nudging the mailbox closed and sitting himself on the ground, Daryl read his first and for the next handful of years, his last meaningful piece of mail.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl,</p>
<p>Maybe you’re still mad at me...it makes sense if you would be, but I just wanted to write to you and let you know that I never meant for things to end badly between us. Between Rick either. I went to New York for me and if that’s selfish then so be it. I really just wanted to do something with my life, be someone, see the world. I just don’t want you to think I was running away. I’m not leaving you guys. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So I can only hope you get over it. That you forgive me and we can just figure out how to move past it. You guys didn’t expect us to all stay in Georgia sneaking beers and cigarettes did you? We’re growing up. I want you to do something with your life too D’, your experiences shouldn’t be based off of mine or Rick’s presence in your life. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It would be a lot easier to start up college here if I knew that my best boys didn’t hate me. I miss you both everyday. I’m leaving my number at the bottom of this letter. Please call me so we can work this out. You’re one of my best friends, Daryl.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-Love, ‘Chonne</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Daryl only took a deep inhale through his nose as he finished reading. There were smudges of ink in big blotches like she had been crying as she wrote but Daryl only pulled out a box of matches, struck one and set the letter on fire. It hit the ground lightly and before it could finish turning to ash, he threw the envelope along with it, burning her words, her ink splotch tears, and her white lily postage stamp. He watched it shrivel to nothingness in an almost trance-like state before he jumped at the holler from his father.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Get yer ass inside boy and come order some take out! Unless ya wanna get your ungrateful ass in the kitchen for once!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alrigh’ !”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You better watch your sassin’ you little shit before I kick your teeth in. Hurry the hell up!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I said I’m comin’, I was just checkin’ the mail,” Daryl cast his eyes down towards the pile of ash once more before crossing over the ditch to his front yard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He took in the overgrown grass, broken beer bottles and crushed cans, spare car parts and the bike Daryl had been trying for months to fix. He took in his sweaty, beady-eyed drunk of a father on their junky front porch as he spat tobacco juice into an old sprite bottle. Daryl grew angrier, at the letter and at himself. Michonne was going off to walk fancy lit up streets while he was stepping through moribund grass and trash just to get inside to order chinese take-out for the third time this week. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He would have called her just to hear her voice but he knew himself and he knew he would have snapped at her and made her feel worse than she probably already did. Where there was pain and sadness, Daryl filled the void with aggression. It seemed to be the only emotion he was good at portraying. It seemed to be the only emotion his brother and his father were able to show him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Daryl walked through his house searching for the house phone, he wondered if she had actually expected him to call her or write back, or did she set her expectations low and send him the letter just to have the final word. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyways. Daryl was sure he’d fuck it up if he had tried because at the end of the day, like always, Michonne was right. They were growing up and he shouldn’t be using her or Rick like some form of crutch or blanket to protect him from the outside world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was implied in the letter but he was feeling it now as he dialed the number of the Chinese place; he was being selfish, not her. Michonne had been talking about moving to New York and taking up journalism all the years he had known her, he was foolish to believe she’d give that up just to stay with him and hold his hand through his shit show of a life. It was still inexorable not to hope.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl Dixion would think about the letter he had burned for about two weeks before he admitted to himself that he should have called her or wrote back. The two weeks after that, Dary would hope she just thought her letter got lost in transit and she would write him another. She did not. There was never another vanilla scented letter with neat handwriting and a white lily stamp in his mailbox again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He decided it was for the best. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. We Meet Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lori- my wife, is ...was one of the best things that had ever happened to me. If it weren’t for her I’d probably leave my head sitting on the dresser before work,” Rick Grimes gave a dry chuckle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His palms seemed unusually clammy and he was numbly aware of how his hands were trembling as they passed a white rose back and forth. He couldn’t pull himself to look out over the crowd he was addressing but he could see all of their solemn faces and black, depressing attire in his peripheral vision. It was drizzling but not enough to cause a disruption, although he wished it would.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rick never was an excellent public speaker, especially without planning ahead of time what he was going to say. Yet somewhere in the back of his mind, he was telling himself that no one would ever be prepared to speak at their spouse’s funeral. Still, he wished he had written something down instead of stumbling over his own jumbled thoughts. Avoiding the eyes of the crowd meant setting his sights on Lori. He paused for a moment to drink her in, lifeless and pale. The normal rosiness that used to color her cheeks was now artificial and caked, her chestnut hair was stiffly framing her face, and her hands were strategically posed to hold a bouquet of flowers. Her grandmother’s old wedding ring was hugging her finger, shimmering even with its age. She wore a white dress that was so simple and muted, that it took nothing away from her being. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rick drew his eyes away as someone coughed in the seats, reminding him that he had a reason for standing at the polished podium.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-I’m sorry. I wish I had something more profound to say...something that could send her off properly. This isn’t it. She died doing the one thing she cherished most in the world…being a mother. For that, she has my respect, eternally.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He parted his lips to say more but his voice caught as he stalled on two pairs of eyes in the back of the crowd. Two people he was sure he’d never come in contact with again; Michonne and Daryl were standing formally in the back with hard-set faces. He took that as his sign to take his seat, walking around the open casket and lying the white rose he had in hand on top of the closed part. He brushed a thumb lightly over the back of one of her hands, afraid she’d crumble if he was too rough then he took a breath to center himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Goodnight love..,” he nodded as he spoke the hoarse whisper, walking his way to his seat next to his son.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carl still till this moment had not cried over his mother, he only rested his head against the kind woman with silver hair, Rick’s mom. She was holding a cooing bundle in her arms, using her maternal charm to calm the newest child, the child that had cost him his wife. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>≈</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you for coming..,” Rick was indolent as he shook the hand of what seemed like the hundreth person wishing him the best. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The area of the cemetery that the service had been held was clearing out now and Rick thanked the heavens for small reprieves. The man was on autopilot, playing the role of the husband who was keeping it together for the kids but really he was unfocused and seeing everything from outside of his body. He forced small nods for the ‘I’m sorry’s’ and kept his balance when men and women he could barely put a name to, gave him hugs and sturdy pats on the back. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>She was so young.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>A boy without his mother, a shame.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Why did the world have to take such a beautiful girl?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rick cast his red-rimmed eyes down, peaking into the stroller at his side. He wasn’t sure when his mother had pushed it next to him but quite frankly he didn’t try to think too hard on it either. A small head of dewy blonde hair was peeking from under a plush baby blanket, wriggling until the face of the little girl was free. She had eyes like her mother’s and the connection made Rick nauseous. He had always dreamed of having a daughter, to hold her for the first time but that moment for him had been no bright light or singing angels, only that sharp type of pain that dug its claws into the victim’s heart and yanked it clean out. </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Sir...would you like to hold her,” the voice was timid as she tried to hand the baby over. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The child was still dirtied with birth and blood but Rick took her in shaky hands anyways, taking a daring glance towards the hospital bed behind him. He quickly looked away and closed his eyes, </em>
  <em>squeezing out the tears that had been heavy on his waterline. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“I’m sorry about your wife sir...if there’s anything I can do to-“</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“I’ll name her Judith,” he spoke suddenly like that was the first great idea he had had in months.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“Judith’s a wonderful name, Rick….</em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>..Rick. Hey Rick.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man refocused, blowing out a puff of air when he saw who it was. Michonne was standing before him in a black fitted dress and heels, holding a look of concern on her face. He hadn’t seen that look in years, the softness of her touch on his arm bringing his churning stomach to a simmer. He could see Daryl standing a bit behind her, shoulders slumped more than usual. His normally wild hair had been slicked and his rough attire had been swapped for something more appropriate for the occasion. Rick forced a smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey ‘Chonne. You look...good. Really good.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She bowed her head in gratitude but her soft expression of worry still set small creases between her brows. She was giving him the look everyone had since Lori had passed, the look that was trying to determine if he would ever get through this, that along with being a single father. He could tell many of the family and friends that had shown up seemed to be more worried about the kids’ well being over his own. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rick…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m okay-,” he looked away from them, looking instead to the crumpled funeral program in his hands, “I’m going to be okay.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was an awkward, unreadable pause as Daryl and Michonne took in the state of the man before them. When they were younger, Rick had always been the most collected one but he had the bad habit of shutting down or holding back his feelings when things started to get taxing. Rick was a mess of contradictions in one body with stacks of terrible coping mechanisms. As bad as it was for him to bury down his feelings, he was strangely phenomenal at it but the facade faltered if one were to look close enough behind those icy blue eyes. A flicker of his poker face cracked at the piercing sound of Judith’s cry from the stroller, visibly making the man tense. With a grimace he looked behind himself in search of his mother but she was nowhere in sight, neither was his son. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The faded voice in the back of his head reminded him that the woman had said she was taking Carl to the bathroom, he had been too zoned out to really register it. Judith’s cries only rang louder, tightening Rick’s chest as the moments directly after her birth played over and over in his head. The sounds of the monitors, the chill air of the hospital, the way Lori’s pale hand had gone limp over the side of the bed; it was all flooding back to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>‘Can I hold her? Can I please see my baby…’</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>‘Ma’am please lie back, you’re losing a lot of blood.’</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rick..Can I hold her?,” Michonne peered up at him with deep brown eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The question brought him back, made him unclench his jaw a bit as he nodded and stepped aside to let her move next to the stroller. She peeled back the cover, a soft smile melting her lips as she picked up the small girl. Her face was red and tear streaked but she didn’t protest too much once Michonne pressed her to her own chest and bounced her a bit. She leaned over and grabbed the burping cloth so she could put it over her shoulder to catch any drool or spit-up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sobs subsided to hiccups as her bright hazel-green eyes took in Daryl. She made a grabby hand over Michonne’s shoulder, to which the man gave her his pointer finger to squeeze. She hummed, trying to lift her head but failing with how weak her neck still was. Daryl felt himself smile a bit, slipping his finger back when the girl started dozing again with Michonne gentle rocking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I always wanted one..,” Michonne spoke sadly, something else hidden behind those words but Rick chose not to question and instead nodded to the statement.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re good at it. I haven’t been..uh- My mom was staying with me since Lori, to help. She goes back home tomorrow though. I’m not quite sure how things are going to go with just me. How did you guys even find out...the last time we talked..I wasn’t even married-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I called them,” Rick’s mom walked up behind him, placing a hand on his arm to alert him of her presence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Behind her was a boy who barely came up to her chest. He had the neatest haircut and a suit that almost swamped him. He was scuffing the toe of his shiny shoes into the grass below him. Michonne could tell right away that was Rick’s son, there was no denying it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know what happened between you three but you all used to be so close,” the older woman glanced at them all to address them, “I thought bringing them here could help you focus on something else...to help you all figure your shit out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nana you said a bad word,” the little boyadmonished, he had to be about ten years of age.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll pay you a dollar then,” she ruffled the boy’s hair with a warm smile before facing the trio again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you say, Rick?,” Michonne was rubbing her hand over Judith’s back in small circles, something about it was so natural and correct.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not so sure I have much of a choice anymore.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>≈</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Michonne ran a freshly peeled potato under the stream of the kitchen sink faucet, lying it on the chopping board to be sliced. Mrs. Grimes, or Juniper since she preferred to be called her first name, was beside her at the counter. They were preparing for scalloped potatoes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she was younger, before she had graduated and flew out to the city, she used to be in the kitchen with Juniper constantly while Rick and Daryl wrestled grass stains into their clothes in the front yard. Michonne loved helping the woman cook because quite frankly, she was amazing at it and nothing topped a plate of her cheesy scalloped potatoes. Michonne smiled fondly to herself at the dull memories of Daryl shying away from asking for seconds in fear of looking greedy so she and Rick would slip some of theirs onto his plate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you smiling about over there, hun?,” the older woman looked up from her activities and set her sights on Michonne.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wondered if Juniper had also been recalling those memories too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just thinking about old times...better times.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You mean before you went all city-slicker on us?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michonne curled away from Juniper’s elbow as it dug into her side playfully. She only sat down the knife, her smile faltering slightly at the mother’s comment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t leave them on purpose you know. Every day that passed up there I just regretted not dragging them with me. Then there were days I got so angry that they didn’t say something that could have made me stay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now, now- none of that. You were following your dreams. There would be consequences whether you stayed or not. Besides, you weren’t the only one who disappeared.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michonne followed Juniper’s gaze over the counter to the view of the living room where Daryl was sitting on the arm of the couch with a sleeping Judith in his hold. She was so small it seemed like he was holding a doll, and by the looks of his tense demeanor and now loosened tie, he was imagining her as porcelain. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He left?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not the state...but shortly after you left, Rick went to the academy to become a cop and with that meant Shane reappeared in his life,” there was a distasteful tone in how she said ‘Shane’, “and him and Daryl just drifted apart.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a new sense of guilt brewing inside of Michonne with this new information. She was under the impression that Daryl and Rick had remained close even without her being there but now that she knew that they had all been without each other, she felt worse. She now understood why Rick was so surprised about Daryl showing up as well. Juniper took over the bowl of potatoes and nodded her head in Daryl’s direction again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Never too late to mend burned bridges. I’m sure neither of you even remember why you’re mad.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michonne mused over the idea of Daryl Dixion not being able to hold a grudge but it still seemed so far fetched that the thought seemed like the butt of a dark humored joke. She tapped the counter with a manicured hand before crossing her way to where Daryl and the smallest Grimes’ child resided. She sat on the couch across from him, digging her bare toes into the plushness of the white carpeting and smoothing her hands over the hem of her dress. The collar was itchy and the shoes she had been wearing left blisters in the back of her heels but all of that uncomfort dulled in the light of this moment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl peaked at her through his hair, it had long since been ruffled from its slick state, falling back into his eyes as she was used to. He was older now, a thicker layer of hair coated his face and the circles under his eyes were purple where they used to be softly pink. All had changed except the intensity of his resting face. She watched him stand and set Judith in her bassinet that was lurking in the corner of the room before he reclaimed his seat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How’ve you been?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michonne was never one to shy away from conversation, especially not when Daryl was the recipient of her words. She avoided talking to him like he was a scared dove with a broken wing, knowing well enough that it didn’t get points across with him, that it made him feel inferior. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Been alrigh’...I guess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He picked at his nails in his lap, itching to chew at the hangnails instead. Internally he was begging his mouth to just say he had missed her, missed Rick, missed them but he was too painfully stubborn for that. He pressed his thumbnail into the palm of his other hand until it stung.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wish this reunion was in better circumstances. A funeral isn’t necessarily the ideal but hey- it worked. In a way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl huffed softly, “Nothin’ was stoppin’ you from comin’ to see us.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michonne wanted to beg to differ but instead she just replied, “And nothing was stopping you from calling my number or writing back to me, was there?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Phone goes two ways.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She parted her lips in disbelief but caught herself from getting frustrated. It was Daryl and if he wanted to deflect then why should she have to take it to heart. It was something she had to learn when having guys, more importantly Daryl, as friends. She never took their anger to heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl chewed the inside of his cheek. It pissed him off that she was so calm, only that slight slump in her shoulders. Michonne never got angry, at least not with him or Rick. He’d watch her take these calculated breaths and just when he’d think she was about to explode on him, yell at him, something- she would simply leave the situation alone or resolve it with stiff words. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a thumping upstairs that caught their attention. Michonne was the first to hop up and start her walk up the stairs while Daryl let Juniper know that the baby was asleep in the living room. Michonne was taking the stairs slowly to really take the place in, grinning at the pictures of Carl smiling with all of his teeth and some without them. She took in their picturesque family with yearning for something she had thought she was so close to having in New York. She ignored the pang in her chest as she walked the rest of the way to the second floor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rick’s house was larger than the average home and definitely bigger than her excessively expensive flat back in the city, the flat she was actually in the process of moving out of. She would hear an earful from her mother when she showed back up on her family doorstep after her parents warned her of moving in with someone too soon. There would be a lot of lecturing her parents would be bestowing on her once she tells them just about everything that went down while she was away but for now she was here for Rick. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man was currently kneeling over a large cardboard box in the midst of what seemed like the master bedroom, laying folded clothes into it with the determination of a teenage runaway. His shoulders were stiff and just from the side of his face, Michonne could tell his face was blank and far away. Feckless. She rapped her knuckles against the door frame, standing through the sluggish pause as Rick registered what was happening, looking over to her with a lugubrious expression. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She felt the warm buzz of a presence behind her; Daryl had finally made it up the stairs. Rick went back to his task, pausing to run his hand over the fabric of a shirt then hesitantly putting it in the box as well. Michonne slid into the room, and though encumbered by her slim fitted dress, she struggled her way to the floor near the man. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Planning on running away from us already?,” Michonne started with the intentions to cajole him into speaking while Daryl made himself comfortable against the doorframe. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Packing Lori’s things,” he replied lamely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’cha think that can wait, man?” Daryl’s voice always gave a sense that he was affronted, never being one to use gentle inflection.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rick shook his head, “Needs to get done eventually.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re distracting yourself, I get it,” Michonne began to absentmindedly smoothing her hand against a pair of worn jeans, “but this doesn’t have to be done today.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rick looked at her with the eyes of a man that was vacillating, wavering between the options of staying beside the fresh cardboard box or putting it away like he was suggested. In the end he didn’t move, nor did he respond. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then can we help, at least?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rick still didn’t look up but he gave a faint nod of reluctance. Before Michonne could ask where he would like her to start, he jutted out a hand and pointed to his closet that was slightly ajar. Only when Michonne started moving towards it did Daryl ease into the room fully to join her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You two can work on gettin’ those shoe boxes down and just look through ‘em and see which ones are hers. Lori had so many…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl reached above Michonne’s head and began pulling down the shoe boxes and setting them on the floor, while he was doing that, Michonne went ahead and kneeled by them. She was slowly but surely wishing she had changed into a more comfortable outfit for this job. Still, her hand began to work at lifting the lid of the first box, her breath catching in her throat momentarily at the sight of its contents. It was a box of memorabilia but laying crisply in the middle was a stack of what seemed to be letters. She touched them gently as she lifted and shuffled them in curiosity noting that all of them started the same. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dear, ‘Chonne…</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Part of her wanted to read all the words he had never sent her. The lengthy paragraphs were jumbled and many words and sentences were scribbled out but they still had something to say. Rick wasn’t like Daryl, he had written her back and mailed it to her but it was short and dry. That letter paled in comparison to these. She glanced over her shoulder but Rick did not notice her findings, and Daryl was still pulling boxes from the shelf so she simply put the lid back on top and slid the box over to the pile she was going to deem as Rick’s. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before her hands could fidget with curiosity again, she grabbed onto the next box in hopes to distract her mind from thinking of Rick hunched over a piece of paper trying to put his thoughts into words for her.</p>
<p> </p>
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